“Right. Fer good measure,” I repeated with a chuckle. “I have t’ ask something, though.”
“Shoot.”
“Ya say all that as if ya don’t expect me t’ be in Pyreshore more than a month. I did a little background work m’self last night. This isn’t just a one-month gig, K. This is meant t’ be a permanent position.”
Kara paused for a moment and narrowed her eyes at me through the screen as she twisted the corner of her mouth up like she did when she was contemplating something. Then she spoke with a more serious tone. “Aish, I know you. You’re my best friend. And I know that it would take something extraordinary for you to accept a job that kept you in one place indefinitely. Let’s face it, you could have had my job, but you didn’t want to put down the roots. Frankly, I’m a little shocked you’ve stayed in Dublin as long as you have. But I know why. And I know that won’t be the case in Pyreshore. So, you’ll have to forgive me if I’m putting my money on this not being a permanent life change for you.” She took a breath and offered me a reassuring smile.
She wasn’t wrong. It was something I had thought a lot about since getting the invitation the day before. But my gut told me I needed to go to Pyreshore. I needed to, at the very least, talk to Uncle Lachlan and see what the role of Keeper was truly about. My instincts said there was more to this trip than just a simple job interview.
“I won’t deny what you’re sayin’,” I replied. “But I feel like I’m being pushed to Pyreshore . . . or pulled. I’m just not sure which. Maybe both. Either way, I know ‘tis time fer me to leave Dublin. At least fer a while.” I paused and breathed in slowly. “I saw him yesterday.”
Kara stopped mid movement, her mug halfway to the table next to her. “Darek?” she asked.
I nodded my head. “Aye.”
“Oh crap. You didn’t speak to him, did you?” she prompted me to go on.
“Actually, I did.”
“Oooookay . . . how’d that go down? He didn’t recognize you, right?”
“Well . . . we bumped into each other outside of Joe’s Coffee on Liffey Street. And fer a moment, he just stared at me. Caught me a lit’l off guard. I held my breath, thinkin’ he was about to call me by name . . . well, the name we gave him after the memory hack, that is.”
“So, he didn’t recognize you then?” Kara asked to make sure.
“I got the feelin’ that some part of him did. He looked straight at me and said, ‘I know you.’ But I immediately assured him I wasn’t who he thought I was. Then he broke eye contact and apologized fer not payin’ attention t’ where he was goin’.”
Kara regarded me with sincere concern. “You okay?”
“Yeah. I’m good.”
“Seriously, Aish. You don’t have to play tough with me. I know that probably stung a little. I mean, ya cared about him. Probably still do.”
She was right. I did. You don’t stop caring about someone just because you had to walk away.
“Of course, I do. But it was fer the best. Besides, it’s not like I was in love with him or anything,” I clarified.
Kara laughed.
“What’s funny?” I asked.
“I should not have let that slip,” she mumbled.
“Well, ya did. So, now ya have to tell me why you laughed,” I insisted.
“It’s just . . . I know you didn’t love him. Don’t love him,” she began but I interrupted.
“And just how do ya know that, smarty pants?”
“I just know. I drink wine and I know things,” she smirked at me and grabbed her mug again.
“That’s not wine,” I retorted.
“Details. It has whiskey in it. That counts for something.”
I chuckled and shook my head. “Fine. But that doesn’t answer my question. How do you know I didn’t . . . don’t love Darek?” I pushed back.
“Because I know you. And I know how fierce you are in everything you do. If you loved someone, you’d fight both heaven and hell before you’d walk away. The fact that he’s a hunter wouldn’t matter in the slightest.”
“It might to him,” I added.
She shrugged. “Well, then I guess he wouldn’t be the right one, would he?” She winked at me and grinned. “Ya know I’m right.”
“I s’pose ya are,” I conceded. “Speaking of the hunters, any word on what The Saiad have been up to since I pulled myself from the assignment?”
The Saiad —a Hunter’s Guild formed in ancient Judah solely for the purpose of eradicating Supernaturals from existence—were the collective enemy of all Supernaturals. The problem with the Saiad was that they were not only armed with advanced weaponry but with misinformation.
“Not much to report,” Kara sighed. “Until we can locate the Kanna Stone, you know it’s not safe for anyone else to go undercover. Even with your ability, I was never comfortable sending you in.”
“And I appreciate that you were concerned, Boss.” I winked at her. It was my attempt at lightening her seriousness.
Kara never fully understood my powers because I never fully revealed them to her. Or to anyone, for that matter. Grams taught me from day one, never show what you’re capable of unless absolutely necessary. The enemy can’t defend against what they don’t know. Sometimes, the element of surprise would be your strongest protection. She also told me that there would only ever be one soul I’d be able to trust completely with all of my secrets. When I asked how I was supposed to know who that was, in true Grams fashion, she just winked at me and said I’d know when I knew. I still wished I trusted in my ability to just know things as much as Grams seemed to have trusted in me.
“Of course I was concerned!” Kara retorted. “You’re pretty much my favorite person. And while I know you were confident in your ability to stay cloaked and appear human, you also knew they were looking for the Kanna Stone, too. If they happen to find it before we do, that’s a total game changer for them, and us, in this war.”
“Maybe what we really need t’ be searching fer are the rest of the Silver Scrolls,” I suggested. “We know there are more based on the information found in the one we have.”
Kara mulled this over for a moment. Took a sip from her mug. “You know, that’s really not a bad idea. But I don’t see how that’s going to help with locating the Kanna Stone.”
I had studied the one Silver Scroll in our possession at length and more than anyone else in our organization. It predated the Dead Sea Scrolls yet still managed to lead us to find them. Dead languages were sort of my thing, and I was convinced the undiscovered Silver Scrolls would lead us to pretty much anything of supernatural origin in existence.
“Think about it, K. Ya know that scroll has more secrets than we’ve deciphered. And if we are translatin’ it correctly, there are seven of them in all. Knowing what just this one has given us, somethin’ just tells me, deep in my gut, that those scrolls are the key t’ not only protecting our race but saving us all.”
“Well, I reckon we know what your next assignment is gonna be when you’re all finished with your Keeper hiatus,” she said and gave me a knowing grin. “Oh . . . look at the time. I have to get ready. I have plans with a sexy blonde! And you, my dear, have less than forty-eight hours before your plane leaves for New York. You know, so we can work a little before you head to your Pyreshore detour.” She used air quotes when she referred to us working. “You best get to packin’ and settlin’ up whatever you need settled in Dublin.”
“Tell Janie I said hello,” I proclaimed.
“What makes you think I’m going out with Janie? I know hot blond guys,” Kara insisted.
I laughed. “Because you’re drinking whiskey in your coffee. Wine is the date night beverage of choice. Whiskey is a girl’s night pre-game drink.”
“Smart ass.”
“Hey . . . this is why you pay me the big money. I know things . . . even if I’m not drinkin’ wine,” I offered her a wide grin and waved sweetly. “Love ya! Mean i
t! Have fun.” And I tapped the red dot on my phone to end the call before she could retort.
She had a point. I had less than two days to get ready to leave my life in Dublin behind, maybe for a month, maybe forever.
First thing on my list, packing.
Second, a little detective work to discover the identity of Super Attractive Guy with the scar on his right eye and why he was at my flat.
Three
I didn’t know how divas did it. Choosing clothes was hard.
How I managed to acquire so many in two years was beyond my comprehension. There was a time I could have fit every piece of clothing I owned into a carry-on suitcase. That time had clearly passed. I stood staring at the large suitcase laid open on my bed and the pile of clothes stacked around it, and I wondered how I was going to possibly get it all to fit.
The answer . . . I wasn’t.
I had to admit, I was a little disappointed in myself.
“You were just playing the part, Aish,” I said aloud to myself. “It’s part of your cover.” Naturally, I knew better. I had simply changed over the course of my time in Dublin. Life had a way of doing that—changing things . . . changing people. It didn’t matter if you were a Fae, a Human, a Shifter, or any other race of supernatural being. You didn’t escape the reality of change. No one was that powerful.
“Ya know what,” I placed my hands on my hips and continued talking to myself. “You are just goin’ t’ pack what ya can in the suitcase, and the rest will just stay here. Or you can give it away.” I gave my head a hard nod forward. That was settled.
I was in the process of making the tough wardrobe decisions one must make while packing for an extended leave when a knock sounded on my door. I glanced at the clock. Just before five in the afternoon. I headed for the door and checked the peep hole before letting down the invisible wards and unlocking the door. It was the same poor parcel delivery guy I’d practically knocked over the day before.
“Ms. O’Cléirigh?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.
“Aye,” I responded.
“I have a letter fer ye. If ye would sign here, please,” he stated and held out a clipboard, then handed me a pen.
I did as I was asked, scribbled my initials on the line, and tilted the pen back toward him. His plump, rosy cheeks lifted into a polite smile as he extended the letter toward me and tipped his hat.
“Ye have a good day, miss.”
“Thanks, you do the same,” I replied and took the envelope from his gloved hand.
The moment I touched it, the magic imbued within tingled the tips of my fingers, and my curiosity was immediately piqued. Habitually, my gaze swept both ends of the corridor before closing my door and restoring the protective wards around my flat.
Sunlight beaming in through the large window in my living room landed on the envelope in my hand. It shimmered beneath the rays. Something about the energy pulsing from the letter seemed familiar. Just before opening it, I hesitated, and Grams’ words echoed in my mind.
“You have to learn the difference between a hesitation that could save your life and one that could get you killed, Aisling.” Her voice was so clear, it was almost like she was still there next to me.
“Trust your instincts, Aish,” I told myself. I carried the envelope into my office on the other side of the flat and placed it into an iron tray. Iron attracts negative magic—or magic intended for harm—and dispels it. It’s also protective, which was why my carry-on suitcase was lined with a thin layer of iron for when I travel. You could never be too careful when you’ve made a career of pissing off the less than savory crowd of the supernatural variety. No matter how careful you have been in keeping a low profile, you can’t stay completely anonymous.
The moment I placed the cover over the tray, and the envelope was completely enclosed on all sides, the telling woosh of magic dissipating told me all I needed to know. Someone had sent me a letter magically wrapped with less than noble intentions. All that remained of the mystery was to open it and see if the sender had been brave enough to sign their name or if they were playing hard to get.
I removed the envelope from the tray and momentarily studied the lettering on the front before opening it. Old world calligraphy—a beautiful but dwindling art form—made my name look regal and elegant. I liked it.
“Okay, let’s see what you have to say, shall we?”
Slipping the parchment paper from its resting place, I unfolded it and immediately noticed the handwriting didn’t match the extravagant style on the exterior of the envelope. This was meant to be more personal.
I have information you will be interested in regarding hunting.
Meet me in Glasnevin Cemetery at dusk. Double white iron gates.
Come alone.
A cemetery? Seriously? I didn’t like whoever this was already.
I scanned the note once again, looking for something that might provide a clue to who wrote it There were no grammatical errors, no inconsistencies in how the letters were written. It was nearly perfect in that regard. But the kicker was the last line. Come alone. Whoever wrote this note didn’t really know me. Because anyone who knew me, even in the slightest, would have never thought they needed to tell me to come alone.
I glanced outside. I had about an hour and a half before the sun would set. Just enough time to finish packing my suitcase and get to the cemetery for a little recon. Of course, I technically had another twenty-four hours to pack, so that could wait. You can never arrive at a meeting site too early for reconnaissance.
I headed to my closet, changed into my ‘work’ clothes, stashed my favorite handheld dagger in the shoulder sheath hidden beneath my leather jacket, and packed in a few other defensive items—just in case. I pulled my hair to the side, braided it, then pulled a black beanie over my bright white tresses. Recon meant blending in with the crowd. My hair did anything but blend in. Hence, the black beanie and the braid I could hide with a scarf. Ten minutes later and I was out the door, headed across town to Glasnevin.
Unsavory creatures tended to frequent cemeteries. I tended to have more run-ins than I liked with unsavory creatures. But that’s pretty much the only thing about cemeteries I have never been a fan of. They’re filled with history and architecture and art, all things I loved. As I casually walked around Glasnevin, surveying the landscape and assessing my surroundings, I studied each person as they passed. Most were human. I wasn’t surprised to find a couple of Witches gathering leaves from a vine growing over a headstone. Likely a family member. Witches were well-known in the supernatural world for using familial bonds to ground their magic.
Among the other visitors I walked past were a Vampire and a Gargoyle. That’s right, Gargoyles walk among us. I highly recommend you never piss one off. They may appear to be human, and therefore soft and squishy, on the outside, but that would be a deception. Word to the wise—you would break a hand if you were to hit one.
I turned into the area of the cemetery that housed the underground tombs and noticed that the vamp I’d passed a few minutes before had turned around and wasn’t too far behind me. Might have been a coincidence, might be he thought I was cute, but my default reaction was to question everything and assume there’s a threat until proven otherwise. Making the wrong assumptions could get you killed.
Something to be noted, most Supernaturals didn’t have the gift of discerning one race from another. It was easy for any Supernatural to distinguish if someone wasn’t human but knowing which race of Supernatural they were dealing with . . . that was the tricky part. When I was young, I just assumed everyone could tell the difference. Mom and Grams taught me otherwise and trained me to keep the gift to myself. So, there was a decent chance my vampy stalker was just going the same way as me or was getting up the courage to say hi. I mean, I’ve been hit on in stranger places. There was still a solid forty minutes before dusk settled in, so I was pretty certain Stalker Vamp wasn’t my mystery note passer.
W
hen I reached the opposite side of the cemetery and noticed the white double gates flanking a small bridge into the underground tomb area, I took a seat on a nearby bench and decided to watch and see what happened. To my right, steps led down into the moat-like area that surrounded three quarters of the tomb peninsula. That’s where the underground tombs were. Stalker Vamp meandered by, slowing to read the placards next to each of the crypts that encircled the above ground section. He gave me a side glance when he stopped at the one closest to me and smiled. There was no malicious intent behind it. He was flirting. I returned the smile to be polite, but then looked away, refocusing just as one of the Witches I’d seen earlier took a seat next to me on the bench.
“I think that might’ve encouraged him,” she whispered in my direction with a slight chuckle. “You know how men are, especially the non-humankind.” She offered a friendly smile that made her eyes sparkle.
I studied her for a moment, slightly envious of her adorable pixie cut and gorgeous copper-colored hair. “Aye,” I replied. “That I do.” I didn’t want to encourage her any more than I wanted to encourage Stalker Vamp. I wasn’t there for small talk or flirting, but Grams had always taught me not to be impolite either. It was often a fine line I walked clumsily.
We sat there quietly until Stalker Vamp was out of earshot, then Pixie Witch spoke again.
“I have a message for you,” she said softly without looking in my direction. It was almost as though she didn’t want anyone watching to know she was talking to me.
I played along.
“I’m listening.”
“A gentleman gave me an envelope for you. I hope you don’t mind, but it was infused with locator magic, and I took the liberty of eliminating that portion of the message,” she explained in her slightly British accent as she eased a small envelope from her pocket and slid it across the bench toward me.
I glanced sideways at her and a satisfied smirk turned up one corner of her glossed lips.
Silver at Midnight: A Paranormal Romance Urban Fantasy (The Keepers of Knowledge Series Book 5) Page 3
